


Intimate

by Davechicken



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Asexual Relationship, Asexuality Spectrum, Aziraphale Has No Genitalia (Good Omens), But physical and analogous, Crowley has no Genitalia, Just no bits, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Other, Wing Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-07
Updated: 2020-03-07
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:13:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23053021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Davechicken/pseuds/Davechicken
Summary: You save the world together. You buy a cottage together. You live together.You forget to set the other things in stone.(And we're not talking who does the dishes.)In which: Aziraphale wants to talk about What It Means and What Do We Do Next and Crowley only mildly has a breakdown and everyone ends up happy.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 30
Kudos: 155





	Intimate

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Patolozka](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Patolozka/gifts).



> PLEASE NOTE: Sexual themes are discussed. There is intimacy and sensuality and touching. Sex-repulsed people will possibly be uncomfortable so caveat lector. Your mileage may vary so if it isn't your taste, I'm sorry. If so, please close and find things you like :) 
> 
> However, if you do like it, then I'm happy and would love even a <3 in the comments box.

Crowley leafed through the periodical, reading the latest astronomical news. Giant lenses and mirrors and data and exoplanets and all sorts of interesting ways they looked at things that were really far away. 

It was pretty cool. 

The angel was supposedly reading, but his breathing did that thing that indicated he was mulling over a point or concern. Sometimes leaving him to it worked, other times it needed a brief jiggle to make the bubble burst.

This time, the jiggle was self-inflicted, because apropos of nothing: “Crowley, are we - are we - together?”

The immediate run of mental responses included comments about how they were both in the same living room, and sarcastic questions to probe deeper, but something in the earnest tone told him to hold off, just for now.

Instead, he looked over the edges of his periodical and made a querulous note to invite further clarification.

“I mean - like - I know it’s not entirely equivalent, but in the broadest sense of… not that you can quantify ageless and sexless beings of occult and ethereal origin, but--”

“Angel. Look around. I’m lying on the couch with just socks on my feet. In our bungalow. Which we own together. Having defied the powers divine and infernal. Is that answer enough for you?”

The demon licked a finger, and warped the edge of the page (ignoring the wince from Aziraphale) and put it down on his chest. Aziraphale’s reading glasses slid down his nose, and the conversation was thus Started.

“I was not meaning to be facetious, and I know we have avoided ‘labels’,” (finger quotes included), “...deliberately, but I… well, I would like to… perhaps… define things a little further.”

“You want to go steady?” Crowley smirked, unable to keep his lips from curving.

“We weren’t already?” Scandal.

“Yes, but we didn’t _say_ we were, which is kind of… what you wanted, wasn’t it?”

The lack of an immediate noise of relief meant it wasn’t.

“I - ah - yes, but--”

“Angel. You’re stuck with me for eternity. If you want me to agree to any term, I pretty much will. I just wasn’t trying to push you too… fast.”

“Quickly,” he corrected. “And I appreciate that. And… I agree, yes, I do…”

“You’re wanting a ring?”

“I - uh? Perhaps?”

So it wasn’t terms, was it? Or even outward acknowledgement. “What is it? You’ll feel better if you just bloody say it, you know.”

Aziraphale deflated, his hands following his belly down on the exhale. “It’s… I suppose, it’s… not being sure if we can - or should - be… intimate.”

Oh. Er. They weren’t doing very well at this whole… thing, were they? Crowley had just been happy with what they’d had, not ever expecting more. The cottage had been a nice ‘holiday’ home that they happened to spend more time there, than not. 

But maybe they should do this - ugh - talking.

“Okay. Uh. So. In summary, we’re together forever, blah, blah, and you want to… uh… negotiate on…” He couldn’t even say it, so he made a gesture with his hands.

“Oh, goodness, I’m - I don’t know if I want to… I mean, I don’t have… it might be pleasant but--”

“I’m going to be very improper, angel, but after six thousand years I think you’ll just have to forgive me.”

“ _Always_.”

Bugger. He walked into that one. Crowley pretended to ignore it. “Do you have, or want to have, the… parts required for… mammalian intercourse.”

“Well I don’t have avian, reptilian, or any kind,” Aziraphale retorted. “Do you?”

“Are you asking me if I have a snake dick?”

“It’s as likely as any other!”

Crowley couldn’t help the baffled laugh. “No, I don’t. Have any kind. I just made things bulge there in clothing if I needed to. Or… you know. In other places.”

“So you didn’t opt for the other set?”

“I decided to leave the metallic paint, locking wheelnuts and reproductive organs in the dealership and go with the show model.”

“Crowley…”

“Alright, alright. No. I currently don’t have dangly or jiggly bits. And I’m okay with talking about them.”

“You can’t even use their names!”

“Neither can you!”

“So perhaps we shouldn’t talk about this!”

“Fine!”

“Fine!”

Aziraphale managed a whole thirty-seven seconds before his self-righteous indignation crumbled, and he shook his head with a self-aware titter. “...we aren’t very good at this, are we?”

You think? Crowley bit his lip, letting the little sting of pain ground him. “Who says we need bits to - you know.”

“I thought you rather… did?”

“Uh, if you want to make babies, or a mess. But… I’m guessing there’s plenty of other stuff. And we could always choose to use bits at a later date.”

“Oh! Well. That… that does sound more appealing.”

“And I only want to - you know - that thing if… if we both actually want to, not because we think we need to, or the other one wants to.”

“I agree wholeheartedly. But how do we… what do we do?”

Thankfully, thinking outside the box was Crowley’s forte. “Pick up your book and come here.”

“My… book?”

“If we’re going to do touching things, then we need to… to be used to it and… okay. Don’t hit me.”

“Don’t hit-- whaaaauuuuHHHHH?”

Crowley grabbed hold of a chunk of angelic torso, and tugged and pulled and toppled the rest of the angel into an awkward seated position between his spread legs.

“I thought we weren’t--?”

“You’re going to get comfortable, and read,” Crowley informed him. 

“Oh.”

“And I am, too.”

“While we’re like this?”

“Consider me your armchair. Alright?”

Crowley had one leg pushed into the back of the couch, the other bent around and over the angel’s own, as Aziraphale squirmed and wriggled and eventually settled with his head near Crowley’s shoulder. A few accidental jabs of elbows, and he was in place.

“This is rather… different. You breathe more than my armchair.”

Crowley stopped doing so. 

“I… think I rather like to feel it.”

Oh, good. He usually forgot and started again before long. Crowley found he could smell the shampoo and cologne much stronger, with a warm angel all bundled up in him. It was… not bad. 

“Okay. This is just step one, remember.”

“It’s a good first step. Thank you.”

Crowley flicked a finger, and the periodical on the coffee table accordingly flipped pages for him. Yeah. It was okay.

***

Crowley had spent most of his time avoiding physical contact with other beings, and Aziraphale had been the exception who he only glancingly touched and only occasionally. It had always felt a bit… daring, a bit… dangerous. Even for innocent contact, if such a thing existed for a demon. 

So this was new. It was ridiculous that it was easier to offer eternal devotion and jewellery to accompany it, than it was to get used to a brush of fingers against the small of his back.

Not that it was unpleasant. Just that it could almost be too overwhelming at times. 

They held hands on their odd sojurns into the village, and his cheeks burned. He snuck up behind the angel at the kettle, arms around his waist, and felt his chest re-enacting the cannon section of the 1812. 

He didn’t so much like the tongue-kissing, and he thought maybe it was because his tongue was the wrong shape, and he was relieved when the angel confessed he preferred the closed-mouth variety.

Those ones were good. Over cheeks, over the knuckles of a hand. Over closed eye-lids. Over the pulse that fluttered in a wrist. Crowley liked the brief taste of salty skin, and he liked the oddly ticklish sensation of receiving them, too. He liked kisses on his lips so light that they tickled smiles into existence, and he liked the nose in his hair when his throat was explored.

And hair. He liked that. Fingers combing, stroking, or even gently tugging. Sometimes he whispered _harder_ and let his head be pulled back so more of his throat could be kissed. Sometimes his own hands delved into fluffy curls, and he would dare to nibble on a collarbone.

Aziraphale had a little dust of hair over his chest, and Crowley liked that, too.

It was just all so very much. The idea of trying anything ‘traditional’ was not anywhere on his mind, not when he could have hands push into the knots of his shoulders and cause moans that would have been fine on any adult soundtrack. If that felt so intense, anything ‘more’ would be… no.

Probably too much. Maybe they were too sensitive, or maybe they were too open to the sensations and the emotions that drove them. Crowley was sure this was better, and he would punch anyone who said otherwise.

***

One night, when he was preparing to climb into bed to do some very nice being-close-to-his-angel existence, he opened the door to find said angel entirely undressed.

That was unusual, but as they’d bathed together, wasn’t beyond what he knew.

What was different was the white wings which were folded too-tightly behind his back. They twitched like nervous fingers, and the angel rocked his weight from side to side. 

“Is - is this--”

“Would you like me to touch them?” Crowley offered, feeling… honoured. Wings were… private. And delicate. And sensitive. And the angel’s were… particularly radiant, even if they trembled behind him.

“Would you like to?”

“Absolutely,” he nodded, and then froze. “S-should… uh…”

“You don’t have to, but I would very much love to touch yours, too.”

Uhm. Yes. Crowley was proud of his, though he rarely showed them. He slowly - manually - started to take his own clothes off, wanting to be in the same state before he let his own plumage out. He could feel the angel’s eyes slide over him, but it wasn’t a judging look. It was appraising, yes, but it was… appreciative. Even loving. 

It was hard, even knowing they’d said this was them, from now until it couldn’t be any more. Hard to think that word covered this. Terms were difficult, and Crowley felt a shiver of shame that wasn’t about his physical appearance, but something much deeper.

“What is it, my dear?” Aziraphale asked, as the demon paused.

He was bare, pink in places from diverted circulation, feeling his emotions in his body, as much as his body in his emotions. His wings stayed hidden, and he felt the rising urge to… run. Run! Get away. This was a mistake, how could--

A primary feather trailed softly over his arm, the one that had huddled into a tight fold with its twin across his chest. He let his eyes meet the angel’s, and he wondered if he really was ready. Satan and Her and the Antichrist were nothing compared to this.

“Angel…”

“We don’t need to do this, or not today, not if you’re not ready.”

If not today, then when? If not now, then when? How many times had he wanted to speak out, or act out, and choked it down for fear of what could go wrong? How hard had he bitten back on his tongue, splitting it and himself further down the middle, making himself as palatable as possible so as not to--

“How?”

“How, what?” Aziraphale asked.

“This - me - us-- how can you?”

“How can I love you?”

He wasn’t supposed to **say** it, and Crowley stepped back and his legs hit the bed. Oh shit. He was naked, but it wasn’t his body. Who he was was bare, exposed, and seen. He didn’t like it, because he didn’t like… him. He didn’t like the angel seeing what he couldn’t look at for himself. Anger and fear and horror and--

A hand. Offered. To shake, to hold, to grip. 

Aziraphale wasn’t going to force any contact, but it wasn’t the touching that was the problem. It was the other thing.

“Angel…” He choked, the word sticking in his craw.

“You are not perfect. But neither am I. I think, if you were, I wouldn’t really be in love with you. It would be like a precise work of art, not… not… something to live with, to… accept the bad parts, and love you all the same.”

“Angel!”

Aziraphale didn’t lower his hand, but his brilliant, white wings unfurled. 

They weren’t perfect. A few feathers were tangled up, or had barbs the wrong way. The light behind them came through stronger in places, and less in others. Still, they were beautiful. And touching them wouldn’t be just touching something soft and pretty, but touching something… intimate, and his. 

“Do you love me?” Aziraphale asked, with only a slight tremor in his voice and a hint of the fear and self-doubt that wracked him, too. 

Crowley nodded. How could he not? How could he have ever not? It was as obvious to him as gravity was to apples, or temptation was to humans. Aziraphale, who made him laugh, and groan, and feel hideous fear and confusion and longing. Of course it was love. Only love could make such a mess of his insides, and make him want to… be worthy enough.

“Yes,” he pushed out, when he finally could. “I always have.”

“And you think an angel is less capable of love than a demon?”

“Well, no, but--”

“Please, my dearest heart. Please don’t leave me, now.”

Oh, fuck, but the angel was hurting. And Crowley was doing it, leaving him vulnerable and exposed with his hand out in open offering of - of everything?

He couldn’t bear to let him hurt, and - well - maybe he wasn’t the best thing in Creation, but he was possibly the best thing the angel could find (said how shit the world was, but what could you do?). So he took the hand. And felt a rush of gratitude and affection that was clearly the angel’s. 

It waned, and he realised that Aziraphale had touched with more than just atoms, and - how had he forgotten that they could? Hell had been a place of only causing pain, and the memory that they could do anything else had…

“I do love you,” Aziraphale murmured, his hand clutching tighter. “I do. I… would like to share how much with you.”

What was he even offering? Crowley had no idea, but he knew he agreed, and he nodded. Yes. Yes. It might kill him, but yes.

This time Aziraphale led the charge, moving to kneel on the bed with his wings unfolded behind him. Crowley moved to kneel facing him, and cautiously shrugged his own free. Ebony, sheer, and somehow so heavy as to pin him to the bed, as well as pull him to the skies. 

Their knees bumped, and the longer feathers rustled as they re-arranged, lacing into a nest to hide in. Every breath he took made the contact tingle all the way down his spine, and then the angel’s head was resting on his shoulder, and his on the other’s. 

Clever little fingers played with the softer fluff close to his sides, and Crowley wanted to explode and melt at once. Against his flanks, and up towards his shoulders, and down again. Such exquisite sensation that his own hands grabbed a little tight into white feathers before he could force them to return the gestures.

Soft. Firm. Careful. Caring. 

The angel’s emotions grazed him a second time, like seeing feeling or… or… feeling knowing, or…

Crowley reached back for him. He had less control, and his surge was maddened, forceful, aching. It sparked a chain reaction where it touched, and he felt a passion as deep as his own echoing on and on and on.

Deeper, and deeper. Until he knew the emotion wasn’t distinct, but one. One messy, tangled bunch, that was so big that they’d had to split it in half and share it, in order to function, to exist. 

His angel. Who loved him. And who offered him everything.

Crowley loved him back, and his eyes shut to ride out the stretching bliss. 

Maybe he’d get him a ring. Maybe he wouldn’t. Whatever he did, it wouldn’t matter. He’d already given him the most precious thing he could offer, and he’d taken the same in return. Crowley didn’t need bits. He had Aziraphale, and that was much, much better by far.


End file.
